


in case I stand one little chance

by iconicponytail



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M, Mutual Pining, New Year's Eve, Veronica/Reggie wedding, archie is clueless but still a good friend, each member of the core 4 at their peak chaotic idiocy, jughead missed his shot and he's trying to redeem himself, making you earn your fluff with some angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:26:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22039282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iconicponytail/pseuds/iconicponytail
Summary: The invitation peeks out, bidding the most gut-churning, heart-pounding glimmer of hope that Jughead hardly dares entertain. An insane, blinged out New Years Eve wedding. Betty Cooper wearing a sparkly bridesmaid’s dress that will undoubtedly ruin him forever. One last chance for Jughead to undo the biggest mistake of his life: letting Archie's love life ruin his own.Pulling out his phone, he sends the text to Archie before he can think twice.Hey. What are you doing New Years Eve?
Relationships: Betty Cooper/Jughead Jones
Comments: 77
Kudos: 238
Collections: 6th Bughead Fanfiction Awards - Nominees, Home for the HoliDale





	in case I stand one little chance

_When the bells all ring and the horns all blow_

_And the couples we know are fondly kissing_

_Will I be with you or will I be among the missing?_

The invitation comes mid-October, on thick, heavyweight paper with a personalized, embossed stamp of Reggie and Veronica's initials. Hovering over the mail room’s bin full of discarded junk mail, Jughead considers doing the rash, defensive best-friend move of throwing the (no doubt) very expensive wedding invitation directly into the trash. 

Archie won’t be hurt by the invite—in fact, Jughead thinks Archie will stew for weeks about whether to go out of goodwill and acceptance of this olive branch and probably miss the RSVP date. Throwing it away now would save them both the trouble.

The only thing that stops him is the addressee line: **_Mr. Archibald Andrews and guest_ **

_Maybe,_ Jughead reasons, _this is exactly what Archie needs._ To stop avoiding half of their college friends and re-integrate himself. To make a genuine show of peace with Veronica. 

(Jughead knows he’s kidding himself. He’s not thinking about Archie at all.)

Tromping up the stairs to their apartment, tucking the invitation amongst the other bills and internet service provider flyers, Jughead feels the familiar knot of tension in his gut. He's been a very good friend since the epic Lodge-Andrews break-up over a year ago. The fallout was rough on Archie—he knew it was the right thing. He wasn’t cut out for the pressures of the Lodge family or always succumbing to their demands over his own, more humble dreams. Still, Archie and Veronica had been together for over two years. So even though Jughead hasn’t endured any grueling break-ups himself, he knew that if the shoe was on the other foot, Archie would do the same. 

At least, Jughead thinks so. Archie has never missed an opportunity to stand up for Jughead their whole lives, including the time that Jughead was nearly expelled for playing with matches in fifth grade. They'd both been suspended, even though Archie was blameless. That was the worst period of Jughead's life; his parents were getting a divorce and it had effectively bankrupted his dad to the point that they moved across town into a trailer park.

But sometimes (or rather, almost every day since Archie and Veronica's blow-out fight that ended everything at Veronica's 26th birthday party), Jughead wonders what might have happened if their roles _were_ reversed. If Jughead went through a break-up where Archie had to, in a show of support, sever all ties to his best friend's beau. To distance himself from the friends that were _her_ friends more than _his_ friends. 

Including her _best_ friend.

The woman Jughead had spent countless hours with, bonding as third wheels. The woman who, when Jughead was dragged along to society events, made a soiree or a gala feel like something tolerable, or maybe even a little anticipated, because it was an excuse to see her. The woman who you were certifiably and irrevocably in love with, though you were never able to get over yourself and do one single thing about it.

The real answer is that Archie would never spend two and a half years pining after someone without making a move. Jughead's not sure Archie would even last two and a half _minutes_ resisting attraction to someone (unless he’s already dating—Archie is undying in loyalty).

Jughead tosses the invitation and the rest of the mail on the coffee table with a sigh, exasperated with himself for going down the same rabbit hole of miserably missing Betty Cooper. _It's been more than a year. You made this stupid, stupid bed and now you just have to lie in it._

Except that the goddamn French paper envelope means that maybe, just maybe, he doesn’t.

The invitation peeks out, bidding the most gut-churning, heart-pounding glimmer of hope that Jughead hardly dares entertain. An insane, blinged out New Years Eve wedding. Betty Cooper wearing a sparkly bridesmaid’s dress that will undoubtedly ruin him forever. One last chance for Jughead to undo the biggest mistake of his life: letting Archie's love life ruin his own.

Pulling out his phone, he sends the text to Archie before he can think twice. _Hey. What are you doing New Years Eve?_

  
  
  
  
  


Archie doesn’t respond, but he knows why when his best friend comes barrelling through the front door fifteen minutes later, arms full of football gear that Archie seemingly gets paid to lug around. Jughead’s not sure why a high school assistant football coach is also required to be a human storage locker, but he tries to tolerate it. The stupid, trippable orange cones are the biggest downside to living with Archie.

But because Jughead’s been stewing in memories since he came home instead of working on photo edits for six different clients, the sight of Coach Archie makes Jughead think of the first time he met Veronica and Betty. 

They’d all gone to college together, but NYU is a big school. Archie met Veronica after graduation, through Betty, who started as an English teacher at the same Bronx high school as Archie. Early that fall, Betty dragged Veronica along to a football game. Jughead happened to show up in support (and because he was practicing his long range action photography), and Betty introduced themselves, recognizing him from various campus events. By the end of the night, Jughead and Betty were so wrapped up in conversation that they lost track of Veronica by the end of the game, only to find her with Archie, making out like high schoolers under the bleachers. 

They would go all together to a few games each season. It was worth all of Veronica’s mooning over his best friend ("Nothing hotter than a strong role model," she would sigh) to see Betty roll her eyes just for Jughead while he pretended to care that she raided his popcorn. 

He wonders if Betty ever thinks about the _lack_ of young people's role model Veronica has now found in Reggie Mantle. It’s the kind of thing he would joke about with her, if they still spoke. The kind of comment that would make her cover her mouth to suppress a laugh. The kind of laugh that made Jughead feel like just maybe his entire existence could be justified by her audience. 

They’d be tucked away in the corner of Veronica’s kitchen during a “casual soiree” or found themselves hiding in a separate nook at a bar while Veronica ordered shots, discussing the portrait series he’s working on, or debating the merits of a book of essays she lent him. Maybe she would touch his arm, and he would wonder whether this was it, if he should stop their conversation with a serious intonation of _Betty._ If she would bite her lip hopefully. If he would kiss her softly. If she would pull away, shocked, before kissing him back harder.

_Fuck, stop it,_ Jughead curses at himself, forcing his body upright from the couch as if to physically remove himself from his masochistic imagination. It’s a bad habit, a rare indulgence, that Jughead re-imagines the thousands of instances that he might have done something about his feelings for Betty.

Archie, having unloaded the bags of equipment, ambles into the living room and sinks onto their semi-decrepit loveseat that Jughead’s been thinking about replacing once he gets paid for his latest editorial spread on the youngest New York City council members.

“Saw your text about New Years while I was parking… you got something going on?” Archie’s tone is rightfully skeptical. Jughead is never one to initiate any kind of festive plans, much less bring them up months in advance. 

“Uh,” he starts, realising there isn’t much to do but show him the envelope. Jughead pulls it delicately from the middle of the mail stack and hands it over. “I wanted to warn you about this.”

He watches as Archie’s expression transforms from curiosity to thinly veiled distress, which is exactly what Jughead wanted to avoid by throwing the invite away. Even Jughead had a slightly melancholic reaction upon seeing the mail, realizing he had also expected Archie’s name to end up on these wedding invitations. They had all expected a lot of things.

So much so that last summer, at the Lodge’s 4th of July rooftop pool party, Betty had asked him point-blank what he was planning to do once Archie moved in with Veronica. “I mean, not that she’s asked yet, but she’s been hinting to me that we won’t be roommates forever, which is essentially her warning me that it’s coming.”

Archie had made no such hints to him, but the idea didn’t come as a total surprise. He shrugged, turning his eyes away to resist involuntarily ogling Betty in her polka dot bikini. “I don’t really want to move, but I probably need a roommate.”

“Well,” Betty started, and Jughead knew that she’d already been drafting a plan. “If we _both_ become roommate-less…” she trailed off, baiting his reaction. 

Living with Betty? Drinking coffee together in the morning? Reading their books together on their shared couch in the evenings, legs casually rested or tangled together? Catching her fresh from a shower, wrapped in a towel?

Jughead had to suppress an enormous flood of emotions all at once. In a matter of seconds, he had to cycle through the impulse to pinch himself awake, to wonder if he might go insane living with someone in unrequited-love-purgatory, to accept that he would not turn down the potential to replace Archie with the next closest thing he had to a best friend. 

So instead he grinned, not caring to dilute his bright excitement. “Of course. I would gladly live with you, Betty Cooper.”

Betty had beamed back at him. “I look forward to living with someone a little more relaxed than Veronica.”

“A _little?_ I look forward to someone cleaner, more well-read, and far prettier than Archie.”

They both blushed at his _pretty_ comment. “I don’t know about _that_ , Jug. But I’m glad. You know… I know we’re _their_ friends, but you’re _my_ friend, too. And even if they stop keeping us around in their apartment leases… I would miss you.”

Jughead, past and present, swallows back the desire to pull July Betty, Almost-Roommate Betty, onto his pool chair and kiss her senseless.

“Jughead!” He jostles, realizing Archie has now repeated his name several times. “Did this just come today?”

“Yeah,” he chokes back. “Do you think it’s from Reggie or from Veronica?” Archie and Reggie had been close in college, but drifted once Archie dated Veronica—and they hadn’t revived their friendship when Veronica started seeing Reggie only a few months after the breakup.

Archie shrugs, like the answer has no bearing on what to do about the embossed piece of paper. “It doesn’t really matter.”

“Are you gonna go?” Jughead presses, feeling a jolt of guilt for being pushy. He wishes he could just say _I need to go with you._ But if Archie knew that he’d stopped talking to Betty on _his_ behalf, well, then Archie would just feel guilt for Jughead’s mistakes. Jughead tries not to make a business of spreading the burden of his own mistakes around. He is not his father—or at least he tries not to be.

“I think it would be a nice gesture,” Archie muses, but his tone isn’t convincing.

“It would mend the appearance of there being a rift,” Jughead urges. Archie’s brows furrow, and Jughead realizes Archie might be confused about the meaning of _rift._ “You know, a… division. A lasting grudge.”

“Right,” he says, clearly still mulling. “I’d need a plus-one. I can’t do this alone. But it would also be kind of petty to bring a random date. Veronica wouldn’t take that well.”

Jughead nods, relieved that Archie is playing right into his plan. “I mean, I could go with you. I guess.”

“Oh! Yes! That’s a great idea! I mean, if you don’t mind. But that would be perfect. Definitely would make it less weird, and more fun, and it won’t seem like a power play. I mean, Veronica knows you, and you know basically everyone Veronica knows…” Archie trails off.

“Dude.”

Jughead’s skin prickles. “What?”

“You know who one of the bridesmaids is?”

His stomach turns. _I certainly do._ “Who?”

_“Katy Keene._ Dude, she’s _awesome.”_ Archie starts rambling about Veronica’s friend, and Jughead silently sighs out all the tension in his body, relieved for once that Archie is the most oblivious man on the planet.

  
  


In true Veronica Lodge fashion, everything about her wedding is more difficult than necessary. Instead of an online gift registry, the invitation insert listed a series of high-end stores with the directions: _Inquire with gift concierge._

Jughead can’t really say why he’s decided to deal with the crowds in Chelsea in the peak of mid-December shopping rush, to find himself in the backroom at Barneys, texting Archie about their spending limit for a wedding gift. Maybe it’s the guilt for using Veronica’s wedding for his own machinations. Maybe because he _knows_ Veronica will tell Betty, _Archie and Jughead got us such a beautiful gift, isn’t that nice of them? I think it’s time to put them back on the guest list again._ Not that he’s expecting to suddenly become “inner circle” again, but it can’t hurt. 

The registry personnel staff asks Jughead a series of questions about price range and hands him a digital catalog to sift through.

The fact that he’s in Barney’s, surveying couples luggage sets shows that he hasn’t spent much time planning how he wants this mission to unfold. Given that Jughead’s lack of plan has led him to a department store during peak holiday shopping is some of the most glaring evidence of his mental spiral.

He’s spent the last two months trying and failing not the drug himself with the past as a means to prepare himself for the daunting confrontation of the wedding. Jughead senses his penchant for a relic of security at work; he still wears a hat that he got for his eighth birthday—the last birthday he ever celebrated with his whole family all together. So it follows that his first defense mechanism against mourning the Betty-shaped hole in his life became stockpiling his favorite memories.

There are a handful: Asking him to be her roommate. The time Archie lost a bet with Veronica and was forced to sit through the BBC six-hour long adaptation of Pride and Prejudice, so Archie dragged Jughead along, and Betty fell asleep on his shoulder halfway through. 

Of course, there was Veronica’s New Years party three years ago, when a girl named Ethel kept trying to trap Jughead in a conversation. Betty, seeing him cornered, sidled up to him with bedroom eyes and wove her fingers between his, murmuring, “Sorry Eth, gotta borrow my man for a minute.” (It was all a ruse to rescue him, but Jughead has imagined approximately thousands of situations where she means them.) Then, while they were across the room from each other at midnight, they’d locked eyes, and Betty had blown him a kiss. 

Or when he got the call about FP’s near-overdose. They’d been at Veronica and Betty’s, like usual, and planning to go _out_ out as Veronica liked to say. Jughead took a call from a number from upstate because it would get him out of a tequila shot. But it was Riverdale General, calling FP’s emergency contact, telling Jughead that he was found unconscious in the White Wyrm bathroom, but is now stable. 

He remembers feeling like he’d been ripped out of his normal timeline and moved into an alternate one, one where his father, for all the trauma and stress FP caused him, could slip from this plane without Jughead’s consent _._ Unable to face the other timeline yet, the one where his friends were in the kitchen and nothing in their lives was drastically bent or broken. Not meaning to, not even knowing where he was going, Jughead shut himself in Betty’s room, leaning against her bed, trying to calm down enough to extricate himself from the evening’s plans.

Then Betty found him. He can imagine her noticing his absence went a little too long, and now Archie and Veronica were getting too free with their PDA. _I’m gonna go check on Jug._ She didn’t say anything when she found him, didn’t ask what the hell he was doing in her room, just sat next to him with her hand on his knee and waited until he was ready to talk. After some lengths of silence, she’d asked if she should get Archie but Jughead said no, so instead she insisted that Veronica and Archie go out without them, that Jug wasn’t feeling great. How she made popcorn with some gourmet toppings and they just sat talking until almost three about their families, until their friends stumbled home and she pulled him into a long tight hug before they called it a night.

This memory is the most dangerous, the most tempting in making him pick up his phone and call Betty in the middle of the night. Because even though he hasn’t said a word to her (nor her to him, which he feels like a knife to the chest), Jughead knows somehow that Betty would still answer.

It’s this thought that remains, itching at the back of his mind as he finishes the wedding gift transaction, or as he drops over to their oft-visited suit rental (he and Archie opened an account after the second incidence of Veronica inviting them to a black tie event) to place their reservations. When Esias, their grumbly old tailor lights up at Jughead’s face and says, “Mr. Jones! It’s been an age!” the itching memories turn to an ache.

Then he gets home to Archie, who launches immediately into a monologue about how badly he needs to meet someone at this wedding to “pound out some sexual energy,” and Jughead feels himself slip over the razor’s edge.

“Oh my god, Arch, can we _not.”_ Jughead doesn’t want to play the contest _who’s more sexually frustrated right now?_ because he doesn’t particularly want to explain to Archie why he definitely wins.

Archie winces, sitting up from their kitchen table where he’s spread out all the team’s playbooks to mark while he watches videos from last week’s game. “Sorry,” he mutters, looking a little pained. He pauses, drumming his fingers on the kitchen table where he’s sitting. “Listen, I wanted to ask you about… you. See, um, one of my students was telling me the other week about being, like… asexual? Not like, a bacteria or whatever, but like… you’re not like, into sex.”

Jughead feels himself light like a match, both annoyed and amused. “Archie, I’m not asexual.”

“I mean, I know you _could_ theoretically have sex—”

“Oh my fucking god, please stop before you hurt yourself. I know you mean well, and I think it’s great that you have students who trust you enough to talk about their orientations, but just because I don’t talk about it doesn’t mean I don’t experience sexual attraction.”

Archie looks like a scolded dog, which Jughead can’t help but smirk at a little bit. “I’ve had sex, Arch.”

“You have? _Dude,_ why didn’t you tell me?”

Jughead shrugs. He doesn’t want to go into detail about the fact that he had been sort-of seeing with their friend Toni in college for a few months, until Toni met her now-fiancee Cheryl. “I didn’t exactly want to compare notes with you.” They’re best friends, but unlike Archie, Jughead thinks some things are still private.

Archie gapes like a rug has been ripped out from under him. “Holy shit, I am a terrible friend.” He chuckles, and Jughead rolls his eyes. “It’s okay. I’m not insulted. It’s nothing to be ashamed about if I were.”

“I know, that’s why I wanted to… nevermind. I guess I’ve kind of just assumed for a long time that...” Archie trails off, his face morphing into several states of reasoning. Jughead’s stomach bottoms out, realizing that Archie is stitching the pieces of the last four years of their life together.

“Yeah,” he murmurs finally, answering the question Archie hasn’t asked. 

“I thought you and Betty were just really close friends because you didn’t—”

“We were close. But I was also, you know. Head over heels in love with her.”

Archie shakes his head. “Why didn’t you ask her out? I thought you probably half-broke her heart or something with how much she was pining after you.”

Jughead sighs, not wanting to go down the road of laying out whether or not the evidence shows that Betty ever pined for him. He’s done it himself, of course, but at this point, either conclusion is too painful to reckon with. “The short answer is that I have way too much pride.”

Archie furrows his brow, and Jughead realizes he’s going to need to spell it all out. “You know Betty’s dating rule?”

Archie’s expression remains somewhat fuzzy. “As in she went on dates sometimes? Yeah. But she never actually dated anyone like, long term.”

Jughead can still remember the fuzzy pink hoodie Betty was wearing, sipping wine in their apartment’s kitchen. They’d all gone to dinner down the street at a place Veronica was ‘dying to try,’ so they’d stopped in the boys’ apartment to decide on the direction of the night. Betty had been describing (to his great amusement and satisfaction) a date that she’d been on the week before that had turned out to be a total mess.

“Right,” Jughead continues explaining. “But she would _always_ say yes if someone asked her out. It was a rule of hers or something.”

Jughead had been bold back in that moment, after two drinks at dinner, to ask, “Why did you go out with him in the first place? Doesn’t seem like… your type.” _Seems nothing like me, who I desperately hope is your type._

“I have a this…” she had searched for the word, evidently also a little tipsy. “Policy. Where as long as they seem like someone I could be friends with, I’ll say yes to one date.”

He’d taken a big swig of a cheap beer Archie had cracked for him. “You could definitely hold a higher bar than that Betts.” 

He remembers how Betty had flushed, and how Veronica chimed in, “Betty you _are_ pretty gracious with the _friends_ designation.” 

In the present, Archie interjects, “Okay, yeah, I kinda remember. But then why didn’t you ask her out? That’s built in rejection protection! Like it took all your—sorry, but you’ve always been insecure about this shit—fear out of it.”

Jughead remembers the same realization. He’s only ten feet from the spot where he made it. _If I ask her out she’ll definitely say yes._ And then it all came crashing down.

“Because if she said yes, the date wouldn’t mean that she liked me. It would mean she’s doing the bare minimum on her playbook. That she’s giving me a shot. And then if and when she decided that she only saw me as a friend, it would be over,” Jughead recites his talking points, memorized over the years of wondering if he should bite the bullet. If he should do it anyway.

He sighs. Jughead could never overcome the ultimate bottom line: Even if she decided they should just be friends, they would have to endure the awkward shine that colors their friendship because he’d dared to made it abundantly clear that he wanted more. 

“That’s some truly backwards, over-thinking shit, Jug,” Archie says.

“I know,” he mutters, taking off his hat to tug at his hair.

“That’s why you wanted to go to the wedding, huh?” 

“Yep.”

Archie pauses, looking deep in thought (though Jughead is not exactly sure what the depths of Archie’s thoughts look like). “Then we’re going.”

Jughead had been pretty sure that they were already going, but he lets Archie have the moment.

  
  
  
  
  


On Christmas Eve eve, while he and Archie finish packing the truck to drive upstate to Riverdale for Christmas with the Andrews’, Jughead’s phone lights up with a text from Betty Cooper.

Jughead sees the message flash across his phone, propped on top of the box he’s carrying of all their gifts. He nearly drops it. 

“Bro, careful! We got my mom that big fancy bowl from Ceramics Stable remember? That shit was expensive.”

Jughead steadily slides the box onto the floor of the backseat. “Sorry,” he mutters, hands shaking as he swipes open the message. 

_Hey! I was pleasantly surprised to see yours and Archie’s names on the guest list! Veronica wanted me to extend an invite to the rehearsal dinner. I know it’s last minute, but I don’t think she expected Archie to make it, but she’s very happy about it. Let me know if you think you’ll make it! Looking forward to seeing you soon, either way!_

Jughead’s heart pounds, thinking about Betty editing the text down to only four exclamation points. Thinking about Betty insisting she send the invite indirectly—though it was very on brand for Veronica to send a proxy. He re-reads, stopping to memorize the last line, already agonizing over whether she means ‘you’ in the singular or plural. 

“Jughead, what the hell are you doing? We gotta get on the road before the rest of New York does.” Archie beckons him to the passenger seat. 

Jughead gets in, wondering what Archie will think about attending the rehearsal dinner and knowing he needs to play his cards right. “I got a text from Betty.”

Archie starts the car but doesn’t move to put it in gear. “No _shit!_ What did she say? _I haven’t stopped thinking about your dreamy eyes for a year and I’m excited to—”_

Jughead cuts him off. “Jesus, no. This is why I don’t tell you shit. She said Veronica wants to invite us to the rehearsal dinner.”

Archie takes a beat, then shifts the car into drive. “Veronica must have guests who couldn’t come. She only does last minute invites to fill seats she’s already paid for.”

“Maybe. Anyway, Betty says to let her know if we want to come.”

The silence hangs between them heavily, and Jughead knows he will need to use more leverage. “I know it’s gonna be weird, but if I’m actually going to have any time to actually _talk_ to Betty…”

Archie glances over at him and sighs. “You’ve never pulled the I-like-a-girl card in your life and _now_ you’re using your whole deck?”

Jughead hesitates, unsure how to make the situation clearer for Archie. “I don’t just _like_ her, Arch.” 

“I know, Jug,” he answers, his tone dialed softer. “You know, even though I thought it was all platonic, Veronica and I used to say you two were like an old married couple. Like fucking reading each other’s minds all the time and laughing at stuff that no one else thought was funny.”

Even though he should feel comforted, Archie’s words feel like salt on a self-inflicted wound. But Archie doesn’t notice Jughead tensing. “I know it might suck to hear this because I know you wanted to be on my side when Ronnie and I broke up, but I wouldn’t have cared if you and Betty stayed friends.”

“You’re right, that’s not fucking comforting, Arch,” he shoots back, staring out the window.

“Sorry. That came out… bad. I’m glad you stuck by me, I really am. If I knew how badly you were punishing yourself then, I would have said something sooner, dude. But if you think she’s it, then don’t let me, or any little doubts and what ifs be your excuse.”

The car reverberates with a profound silence. Jughead know’s Archie is right, knows that he can’t decide that bad things just _happen_ to him because he’s a magnet for misfortune. He can’t pretend that doesn’t have agency. When his family kept falling apart, he planted himself in a new one, with the Andrews. When he didn’t get the creative writing scholarship he wanted, he withdrew and resubmitted an entirely new portfolio for photography. If he lost the woman he loved by bad timing, he’ll use whatever time he gets.

“We’re going to the rehearsal dinner,” Jughead declares.

“Good. Though you know—”

“Oh shit, we’ll need the suits earlier,” Jughead completes his thought. “I’ll call Esias.”

  
  
  
  


The idea of an extra event for an already very drawn out series of celebratory events has always seemed excessive to Jughead, but the saving grace of the rehearsal dinner is, of course, the dinner portion. And unlike most people, nervousness only makes Jughead _hungrier._

They follow Betty’s advice, which is to show up later, after the rehearsal portion. The doorman at the hotel recognizes Archie from events of years past and sends them up in the elevator. 

“Text her that we’re here,” Archie instructs.

“I don’t think—”

“Just do it, Jug.”

His fingers are trembling so much he doesn’t think he’ll finish typing before the elevator hits the floor they’re headed to. _We made it!_ It’s a stupid message, but he sends it before Archie takes the phone out of his hands and does it for him.

But as usual in matters of love, Archie is right. When the elevators open, revealing a glossy, nearly reflective black floor and an unapologetically art deco reception hall, Betty is the first thing in sight. Jughead forgets the entire English language. 

Thankfully, Archie takes charge and greets Betty warmly with a hug. “Thanks for the invite, Betty.”

“Of course! It’s been way too long,” and she smiles like it’s been weeks rather than months. Like they’ve been busy, not like Archie and Veronica were once very in love and then very broken and bitter. 

She turns from Archie to him, her hair falling behind her shoulders and her off-the-shoulder dress revealing the sharp line of her collarbones. “Hey Jug,” Betty greets, her voice half as loud, and her shyness somehow makes him a little more bold. 

He sweeps her into a hug, but Betty holds on for a beat longer than he expects. “Hi Betty,” he says, right into her ear. When they pull away he feels his cheeks flushed, but Betty looks pinker, too. 

“Can I get you anything to drink?” she asks, but Archie is already peeling away into a conversation with Moose, leaving them alone. 

Jughead shrugs, his evergreen _sorry about my over-social puppy dog_ gesture, and Betty laughs. “I’ll just come with you,” he offers. 

“Well,” Betty leads the way to the bar, “if it’s just us…” She directs something to a bartender, who pulls out two wine glasses and a bottle of red. “Might as well stick to our usual.” 

_Old married couple,_ he thinks, unable to hold back a grin. It doesn’t even feel real, watching Betty hand him a glass before tucking the bottle back behind the bar. She should be annoyed at him, should demand answers, not act like nothing’s changed. 

Betty takes a seat at the bar. “Oh god, this feels good. I don’t know how I’m gonna last through tomorrow in these shoes.”

Jughead takes the seat next to her, unable to stop _looking_ at her. She’s even more beautiful than his memory; sharper, more intense. Eyes greener, hair blonder. 

“What?” she asks, shy again. 

“Nothing. I just…” _No what ifs._ “I missed you. And you look amazing.” Jughead wishes his face didn’t have to turn bright red, but Betty doesn’t seem to mind.

“Thank you,” Betty breathes. “And I missed you, too.” There’s a brief pause, the moment when Jughead knows he needs to take the leap to explain his silence, but Betty starts again. 

“I’m really sorry for that. You were more than just Archie’s friend to me and the only reason I didn’t call you was… well, there aren’t any good excuses.” Betty lays her arm across the bar, reaching for him like she’s waiting for him to meet it with his own hand.

Jughead feels as weightless as a balloon. “Oh god, no, I was going to say the exact same thing. I’ve been kicking myself to think that maybe I only considered you a friend of circumstance or something.” I feels good to get out with it, to know she’s missed him. It’s not everything, but it’s a good thing. It’s a start—a new one. 

If only his arm didn’t weigh ten thousand pounds, so he could put his hand on hers and graze her knuckles with his thumb and then look into Betty’s eyes to see her pupils darken and— 

“Jughead!” Veronica shrieks in his ear. She’s at his ear, wearing a white sequined gown and looking surprisingly delighted by his presence.

“Hi,” he manages, fumbling for the correct words to exchange. “Congratulations, Veronica,” he says as genuinely as he can, offering her a half-hug. 

“It’s been entirely too long,” she schmoozes, and Jughead resists the urge to look back at Betty and roll his eyes. “I’m really so glad you made it. Is Archie around?” Jughead nods towards the food table, where he hopes Archie is also loading a plate for him.

She floats away after issuing Betty some directive that makes Betty whisper fiercely back. He’s not proud of the way he stains to decipher it, but he manages to hear, _Give me a minute, V. I haven’t seen him in a year._

Maybe it’s the glass of wine, maybe it’s the tight knot of his tie, but it’s probably just Betty’s words that flood him with warmth. Or maybe it’s the coy and knowing smile that Veronica dishes back at them as she glides away.

“I love her, but I”m so excited for this insanity to be over,” Betty sighs. 

“I can imagine.”

“I just thought…” Betty takes a sip of wine mid-sentence, seemingly to help her get the rest of it out. “I always imagined Veronica’s wedding being different. I mean,” she over-corrects quickly. “I _like_ Reggie.”

“But you always thought it would be Archie,” he finishes.

“Exactly!” Betty sighs, like she’s relieved to finally admit it. “And I know it just wasn’t meant to be, if there is such a thing. Or it wasn’t what they wanted anymore.” Betty signals for the bartender to refill her glass. 

They may be using their safe, shared language of discussing Archie and Veronica’s relationship, but it feels like more. Like they’ve both been saving up all their innermost thoughts and opinions and rediscovered their audience in each other.

“I know it makes me the worst best friend in the world to not just be _happy_ for Veronica.”

Jughead interjects with a quick shake of his head, but she holds up her hand to let her finish. “I always thought that if I had to go through the wild adventure of a Lodge wedding, I’d at least be able to count on Archie knowing how to dial her back. I mean, she _likes_ that Reggie doesn’t try to talk her down.” Her eyes are ablaze, and Jughead remembers how much he loves her when she’s a little worked up.

“Not to mention, I thought I would have _you.”_

Jughead’s heart leaps. Betty stutters, “You know. That during the wedding planning fiasco you would be dealing with all the same stuff as me because you’d be Archie’s best man. And... we would support each other as, um, roommates. Like we planned. Oh god, it’s very silly.” Betty shuffles like she’s going to stand up, and Jughead reaches for that hand she’s left on the bar. 

“No. Trust me. I’ve thought a lot about what could have happened.”

Betty’s eyes widen, and Jughead knows this is his moment, but there still feels like too much left to say. His palm starts to sweat against her hand, so he draws it away slowly. 

“Who did you move in with?” he asks, attempting to sound casual.

“Oh. Um, I didn’t. I’m staying in the penthouse until Veronica sells it. And then there will be time for me to find a place. All that.” 

Jughead can sense that he’s just staring at her now, probably with a dopey and tender expression. Maybe it was just the most convenient thing, but it’s relieving to think that _maybe_ to Betty Cooper, he’s not replaceable. And he wants to say something, anything that might tell her that she’s also irreplaceable to him, but Cheryl breezes into their periphery.

“Cousin, Veronica needs us for the toasts. Hobo, your ginger ruffian is looking like he needs a lifeline.” She waves vaguely into the opposite corner of the bar where Archie is, indeed, standing awkwardly with two plates of food and slightly panicked look. 

Betty wipes her lips on a napkin before standing. “Coming, Cher,” she promises with a look that sends Cheryl glaring as she walks away. Turning back to Jughead, Betty sighs. “Duty calls. If you’ve got to bail out Archie, just make sure… just come find me tomorrow sometime.”

Jughead nods. “Of course, yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Betty beams, and then in a movement so rapid that Jughead isn’t even sure it happens, she plants a kiss on his cheek, near his jawline. 

When he ambles over to Archie, his friend eyes him with a mixture of respect and trepidation. “If I were you, and a girl I liked was looking at me like _that—”_

“I absolutely do not want to know what sex acts you have committed in this very venue, Arch.”

  
  
  
  


Predictably, the ceremony is long, Catholic, and laden with the overhanded touch of the Lodge family ego. It has the opposite effect on Archie than he expected; watching the parade of the Lodge cousins down the aisle, Archie leans over to him. “I’m so glad I never have to deal with these people ever again.” It doesn’t affect Jughead much; he can’t help but spend the entire time staring at Betty, who is wearing a rose-colored floor length silk dress that clings to her body in the most unfair ways imaginable. 

They are trolley-ed across Central Park to the reception at the Museum of Natural History, and Jughead tries to bottle the exhilaration of New York City on New Years Eve. It’s already late; Reggie and Veronica opted for a late ceremony and dinner, so that the party would start just before midnight and carry on into the early hours of the new year. Jughead has watched Betty from across the room on New Years Eve before; he’s not going to repeat his mistake. 

Despite attending more Veronica Lodge events than the majority of attendees, even Archie’s jaw drops at the ice sculptures that line the entrance to the reception hall, or the orbs of flowers that hang throughout the hall. Not to mention, of course, the blue whale casually hanging from the ceiling. 

The cocktail hour begins with a barrage of appetizers, of which Jughead manages to deftly grab at least two per platter with his nimble fingers. He follows Archie’s lead as they insert themselves into any NYU associated people, each reciting their rehearsed small talk. Jughead drinks more champagne than intended as the waitstaff silently refill anyone’s dwindling glasses.

Finally, he feels a tap on his shoulder and knows, somehow that it’s Betty. The slip of her dress, up close, is even more distracting than during the ceremony. Driven by the champagne, or the annoying conversations he doesn’t care about, he slings an arm around her waist and pulls her close. It feels like a move more suave than anything he’s capable of, but Betty giggles and he’s anything but deterred. 

“Thank god,” he murmurs in her ear. “I know I’m supposed to know who these people are, but I don’t particularly care.”

She smirks. “I wish I could save you, but I just came to say hi before dinner.” Her hand reaches up and brushes the back of his neck, and Jughead feels it all the way in the tips of his fingers. “But, I _am_ expected to dance throughout this whole fiasco, and I came to beg for you to save me one of those dances to make the night a little more tolerable.”

He knows what’s happening—Betty Cooper is flirting with him. Maybe she’s been flirting with him for a long time, but now he knows it, and he won’t shrug it off. 

“Just one?”

Her grin is electric. “We’ll see how you fare,” she whispers, slipping out of his grip and following another bridesmaid down a side hall.

  
  
  
  


For dinner, they’re seated at a table with the same scattering of NYU people, all ‘outer circle.’ They do find their friend Val Brown, someone Jughead always found interesting and talented, and it eases the itching impatience Jughead feels for the end of the dinner courses and wedding theatrics to the moment he can leap from his seat and make his way back to Betty.

He and Archie chat with Val and her brother Trevor through dinner about Val’s burgeoning music career, though by the final course, it’s apparent to everyone that Val and Archie more focused on each other than anyone else in the room. Archie deserves a redemptive moment at his ex-girlfriend’s wedding, so Jughead does what he can to occupy Trev Brown.

“So, Archie and Veronica…” Trev starts, voice hushed.

“We were all friends in college,” Jughead explains evenly, even though it’s not totally true. Trev nods, though he can tell Jughead is glossing over the details; but if Trevor clearly knows the details, advertising the past seems unnecessary. 

“Huh, cool. So…” Trev’s eyes trail to the head table. “You know that whole crew pretty well?”

Jughead shrugs. “I used to. Don’t see them all as much anymore.”

They’re paused for a while when the speeches start. As Betty toasts, her voice choking up, Jughead knows he’s wearing a soft, sappy smile. He feels Trev eyeing him curiously, but Jughead manages to avoid looking at him until the first dance. In fact, as soon as possible, he’s trying to leave the table. But as Veronica and Reggie take the floor, Trev leans over conspiratorially. 

“You know Betty Cooper, huh?”

Jughead bristles. “Um, yeah.” He squashes the caveman impulse to prove just how well he knows her, or perhaps to indicate how well he _intends_ to know her. Betty doesn’t appreciate stuff like that, and he’d feel a little foolish even trying.

“God, I met her at a party one time while I visited Val at NYU. Totally chickened out on asking her out, so I kinda begged Val to let me come as her plus one tonight so I could get another shot.” 

To Trev’s credit, he appears a little sheepish about his desires, and Jughead can imagine how amenable Trevor would be to the soft letdown of Betty Cooper.

But then Trev asks, “Do you think she would say yes to coffee or dinner or something with me? God, sorry, this is totally pathetic. You don’t have to answer that.”

That’s when Jughead’s stomach twists. He has no reply for Trev that doesn’t sound insane, or like he’s trying to one up him in the pathetic department. _She’ll say yes because she has a stupid fucking rule, and I’m such a piece of shit that I won’t even take a chance on that._

Jughead winces a smile at Trev, then mumbles an excuse to leave—he’s not even sure what words come out of his mouth; he doesn’t hear them. In fact, he can’t hear anything anymore except a pounding, panicked heartbeat he looks for the nearest place to hyperventilate. 

Because Trev, for all his rambling, could beat him to the punch. And because Betty is so determined to give anyone a fair shot, Trevor Brown will take his window. For all Jughead’s menial declarations ( _I don’t consider you a friend of circumstance),_ all his longing looks, all it takes is one man with a hair more confidence than Jughead to thwart all his highest hopes. 

Veering down the hallway he saw Betty take earlier, he tries the first door handle and finds that it gives to a brightly lit, empty dressing room. He sinks down onto a plush, white leather chair, sheds his suit jacket, and leans back, fluttering his eyes shut to drown out the self sabotaging thoughts bearing down on him. 

But then the door bangs open again, revealing the bride herself. Veronica, for all the stereotypical descriptions of a woman on her wedding day, does _truly_ glow. She’s leaning a little, such that Jughead can immediately tell she’s had a _lot_ more champagne than he has. For a moment, Jughead forgets his moping. It’s the first moment that he remembers that Veronica seems very happy, and that even after everything, it feels good to be happy for her. His soft sappy smile returns by a fraction before slipping again. 

“I’m sorry, I just needed to—” he starts to explain but stops short, realizing there is no easy way to sum up why he’s invaded Veronica’s dressing room.

“No, no, you’re fine, just coming to powder my face, catch my breath. Have you caught up with Betty tonight? She’s probably waiting to be—”

Veronica’s expression twists, perhaps noticing that he’s slumped in defeat with a miserable gleam in his eyes. 

“Not yet,” he croaks out. 

“Jug. What’s going on?” Her dress skirt is a little too voluminous for her to sit close, but she pulls up a stool.

“I had a plan. To tell her everything. Well, not a plan, but…”

“To tell Betty?” Veronica prompts softly.

“Yeah. That… I loved her. Still love her.”

Veronica inhales sharply, biting her lip, but Jughead can’t bear whatever she has to say yet, so he barrels on. “Anyway, then I was sitting with Val’s brother, _Trevor,_ and he’s going on about how he came to the wedding to ask Betty out so… I wigged out.”

Veronica’s expression of concern morphs to genuine amusement. “Oh, Jug, Betty wouldn’t date Trevor. He’s Val’s brother and we’ve heard way too much about his emotional immaturity.”

He shakes his head, exasperated. “She’s got that fucking dating rule.”

Veronica’s brow furrows, then her eyes widen. “Oh, Jughead. Oh my god. That rule isn’t real.”

Annoyed, Jughead sits up straighter. “Yes it is! She went out with that guy from work, remember? And you told her that she had a low standard for who constituted friend-worthy?”

Sighing, Veronica softens. “Right. Yes, that happened. But the rule isn’t real.” He must look dazed, maybe even angry, because she rests a hand on his arm. “It was a stupid idea of Betty’s. She thought that maybe you liked her, but were too nervous to ask her out. So she made up the rule, thinking it would give you the encouragement to go for it.

“I thought it was sort of silly and that _she_ should have just gone for it herself! But then you didn’t do anything. And she figured you must not like her _like that,_ if you wouldn’t even ask her out without any stakes.”

Jughead doesn’t know if he should feel livid, depressed, or over the moon—mostly he feels numb. “I truly have breached a new level of humiliating idiocy,” he groans, head in hands. “I just wanted her to actually want _me.”_

But Veronica lifts his head up by the chin. “Stop. It was a bad idea. And she was a total wreck for you. To be honest, she still is. She _begged_ me to invite you to the rehearsal dinner. So you need to stop feeling sorry for yourself while I powder my damn nose because we both have a midnight countdown to get to.”

_Midnight._

Jughead grabs his jacket, leaving behind Veronica’s smirking visage in the mirror and jogging down the hall. The dance floor is crowded—it’s 11:55 according to his phone—so he edges around the servers clearing cake plates from tables and too-large groups blocking his route around the dancefloor. His heart jumps whenever he sees the flash of braidesmaids pink. Cheryl and Josie are both cause him a minor heart attack of false alarms, but then he spots her. 

Betty’s not smiling. In fact, she looks nervous. Uncomfortable. _She’s looking for you, you absolute baffoon._ Before he can fully register what he’s doing or how ridiculous he looks, Jughead pushes through the clusters of bodies on the dance floor, weaving and pardoning until she sees him. 

He’s out of breath, out of words, but she grabs hold of his forearm and Jughead’s heart starts to calm. She’s always been his anchor. “Jug, where have you been?” She tugs him to the edge of the floor. The music is slow and jazzy and making his head spin a little. 

“Listen,” she starts, words falling in a jumble, insistent and adorable, like she’s been rehearsing this for hours. Days. Maybe even years. “I haven’t been honest with you since we met. I should have called you after Archie and Ronnie broke up because we _were_ friends Juggie, but also because I’ve wanted to be more than friends with you for a long time.” 

In the background, Reggie and Veronica have started riling up the crowd for the midnight countdown, but their noise sounds like echoes underwater. 

“And sometimes I think you do too. Or you did. I don’t know, maybe it’s too late. But—”

“Betty.” Jughead stops her, winding his arm around her waist and bringing his other hand to cup side of her face. Her lips part, breath stopped, and her eyes even bigger and more hopeful than all his fantasies. When their lips meet, soft and sweet, Betty’s whole body arches into his arms.

They miss the countdown, but it doesn’t matter. He’s kissing Betty Cooper before, during, and long after midnight.

**Author's Note:**

> this was a random little inspiration based on the idea of betty creating a fake dating rule to get jughead to ask her out. then... it spiraled. thanks as always to heartunsettled soul for hyping me up~
> 
> as always, would dearly love a comment with your thoughts if you have a chance!! happy new year :)


End file.
